, made no comment. Only
Christian, her small hands clenched together into a brown knot, her
eyes fastened on Larry's flushed face, murmured:

"Go on, Larry!"

Larry went on.

"It's called the Spirit of the Nation," he said. "It's full of
splendid stuff about Ireland, and the beastly way England's treated
her. It sort of--sort of put the notion into my head that we might
start some sort of a Fenian band, and that some day we might--well,"
he turned very red, and ended with a rush, "we might be able to strike
a blow for Ireland!"

"Moy oye!" said Richard, intensifying his favourite invocation in his
surprise, "but what's wrong with Ireland?"

The position wanted but the touch of opposition. Larry rather well bet
Richard that there was plenty wrong with her! Penal laws! Persecution!
Saxon despots grinding their heels into a down-trodden people!
Revolution! Liberation! Larry had a tongue that was hung loosely in
his head and was a quick servant to his brain.

"Of course I know we're rather young--well, you're nearly fourteen,
Richard, and I'm thirteen and three months, that's not so awfully
young. Anyway, everything's got to have a beginning--" He glowed
upon his audience of six, his fair hair in a shock, his eyes and his
cheeks in a blaze, and one, at least, of that audience caught fire.

The Revolutionary or Reformer, who hesitates at becoming a bore, is
unworthy of his high office; and Larry, like most of his class,
required but little encouragement. He produced a large book, old and
shabby, the green and gold of its covers stained and faded, but still
of impressive aspect.

"There are heaps of them, and they're all jolly good. It's rather hard
to choose--" began the Revolutionary with a shade of nervousness.
Then he again met Christian's eyes, shining and compelling, and took
heart from them.

"Well, there's 'Fontenoy,' of course that's a ripper--Well, I don't
know what _you'll_ all think, but _I_ think this is a jolly
good one," he said with a renewal of defiance, and began to read, at
first hurriedly, but gathering confidence and excitement as he went
on:

"Did they dare, did they dare, to slay Owen Roe O'Neill?
Yes, they slew with poison, him they feared to meet with steel.
May God wither up their hearts! May their blood cease to flow!
May they walk in living death, who poisoned Owen Roe!
We thought you would not die--we were sure you would not go,
And leave us in our utmost need to Cromwel